


Consider It Handled

by starthief



Series: The Handler [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Belly Rubs, Body Worship, Breathplay, Canon Compliant if you believe, Chubby Kink, Daddy Kink, Fat fetish, Feeding, Feeding Kink, M/M, Old Age, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Endgame, Size Difference, Size Kink, Stuffing, Subspace, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, fat appreciation, fixit, not between them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-05-29 15:20:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19403017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starthief/pseuds/starthief
Summary: Steve's back in 2023, and Bucky and him can finally be together... right?(Spoiler alert: the answer is "right!!!")Or: Steve is worried that Bucky won't like him anymore because he's old. Bucky is worried that Steve won't like him anymore because he's not fat. Hijinks ensue.





	1. Bucky POV

**Author's Note:**

> More warnings for past mentions of sexual assault, graphic depictions of violence, and torture from HYDRA/internalized fatphobia. (Bucky is starved down to Winter Soldier weight, but Steve gets him back up in no time ;) )

Bucky’s heart pounded nervously in his chest as Professor Hulk flipped the switches and counted down from 5.

Sure, he already knew what would happen, but it didn’t make things any easier. He’d remembered bits and pieces back in 2015, in flashes and shards. They’d come later than the memories from the thirties and forties, in confusing jumbles of dinners and dances. By the time Steve found him in the warehouse, he’d remembered everything- or, at least, enough to know it wasn’t a good idea to clue Steve in to their forgotten history.

It _hurt,_ keeping it to himself. It ached, watching Steve kiss Sharon. He really thought he’d die as they fought Tony. When the goateed man had blasted his metal arm off, he really thought he might die, and that’s why Steve had been so resistant to talk about the future back in Berlin. But Steve had picked him up, and they’d limped their way back to Wakanda. 

It stung every time Steve FaceTimed him, and the rare occasions when he’d visit, Bucky’s stomach was such a mess of nerves he’d binge all night before the blond arrived.

And oh boy, the _food._ It came down on him in waves of scent memory, back in Bucharest, when he’d been trying to piece things together. He’d been in his empty apartment eating a doughtnut, barely a shell of a human being, when the past would hit him: Steve stuffing him so full he could barely eat, Steve calling him fat and making him go on all fours, Steve buying him so much fucking food, Steve rubbing his sore overfull gut. He ate himself sick, back in Bucharest, trying to bring back more memories. By the time he pieced it all together, he didn’t want to eat alone anymore. He’d tried a few times in Wakanda. Food was certainly plenty, and no one would judge him if he put on some retirement pounds. But it all seemed empty without Steve.

The moment after Professor Hulk had counted to 1 and Steve didn’t reappear, Bucky looked over to the park bench. He remembered what had happened in the cell in Siberia. He remembered the moment before he’d pulled the trigger, the man before him had snapped out of the air. He’d been made to search the compound for hours, but there was no trace of him. There wouldn’t be. 

His heart jumped when he saw him sitting there in his tan coat. Finally, that was _his_ Steve. Not the man he’d spent the last four years with before the Snap. The set of his shoulders, the grey in his blond hair, the ring on his left hand, it was all familiar. 

Bucky had lost his own ring years ago. HYDRA had taken it from him, torn it from his metal hand before they’d starved him down to his bones. He’d bought a new one, just like the old one. The rings never mattered. They were just a symbol of everything they shared, and finally their times had aligned. 

Bucky didn’t even care that Steve looked a good forty years older than him. He’d forgotten just was his face looked like, all the time he’d spent staring at young Steve. He rose from the bench and stood, fifty paces away from Bucky. They stared at each other, unblinking. Sam got the hint and gave them a little wave, walking off to go talk to Professor Hulk. Steve ran forward into Bucky’s open arms.

“Careful,” Bucky said with a laugh. “You don’t want to tire yourself out.”

“Fuck you,” Steve shot with a chuckle. He pulled back and they both gazed at each other for a moment. 

“I sure hope so,” Bucky responded after the silence. He couldn’t help the insecure edge to his voice. He’d spent four years praying Steve would want him when he got back from the past. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it if Steve rejected him now.

“Oh,” Steve’s expression faltered.

Bucky’s heart sank. “I mean, you don’t have, to, uh, I’m sure you want to-” he rushed, trying to make up for his blunder. He shouldn’t have been so _eager_ for chrissakes. Who knows how long it had been to Steve since they’d last seen each other? He should have been patient, given them time to relearn each other. “Sorry. Ignore me. I’m sure you want to… do… other things.”

“Uh, no, no, it’s fine… I… uh, it has been a while, I….” 

“Steven _Goddamn Rogers!_ ” a voice bellowed from across the glade, and Bucky and Steve turned to see Natasha _sprint_ from the house over to Steve. She tackled him to the ground, not caring one bit about his aged frame.

“You know, I always suspected the G didn’t really stand for _Grant_ ,” Bucky speculated with a laugh. 

Steve spluttered on the grass, hugging Nat back just as sincerely. “Thank god, it worked.”

Nat sat on the grass and punched his shoulder before helping him up. “You saved my life.”

Steve nodded. “When I returned the soul stone, I thought you might… come back.”

Nat told him about how she’d reappeared on Vormir alone, and used her time suit to return to the present. Bucky smiled and let them catch up, going back into the house.

Sam was sitting at the table, talking with Morgan. He turned when he saw Bucky come in. “Hey,” he started, following after him as Bucky walked through to the living room. “I thought you and Grandpa would want more time to catch up.”

Bucky shrugged. “He has more important things to deal with.”

Sam scoffed. “What could be more important than the love of his life?”

Things had been different in Berlin. They’d been so close, and all alone. It was natural that things would happen between them. Bucky was sure he’d romanticised it in his mind, made it all more magical than it had really been. “I don’t think he wants me in his way. Not right now, at least. I just remind him of too many bad things.” 

He reached the front door, metal hand reaching out to tug it open.

Sam stopped him. “Hey, where are you going? Back to Wakanda?” 

Bucky just shrugged. Away from Steve. Away from the pain. Maybe to a restaurant where he could drown his sorrows in a cheeseburger. Maybe there was something to eating his feelings. 

  


\--

After dinner, Bucky wasn’t quite sure where to go. Pepper had generously put him up at her house in the weeks before Tony’s funeral, but he didn’t want to impose there anymore. He didn’t want to go back to the compound- it didn’t feel like a place he belonged just then. And although his time in Wakanda had been cathartic and wonderful, and everything he needed, it wasn’t where he wanted to be. 

He wanted to go to New York. It had been long- longer than he could actually remember. But first he needed to pick his things up from the Stark estate. 

He parked the bike a good half mile away from the house, hoping the trees would deafen the sound of the engine. It was dark, almost midnight, and Morgan was sure to be asleep. 

The door opened to his thumbprint, and he crept inside and retrieved his things from the guestroom. Inexplicably, Steve was there. Bucky felt him the moment he’d stepped past the threshold, assassin instinct alerting him to another person’s presence, and Steve’s scent was more familiar than memory. The lamp startled Steve, and Bucky thought he’d dozed off from his seat in the rocking chair.

“Nodding off, old man?” Bucky quipped, trying to make it light, and failing by a long shot.

“Where are you going?” Steve asked, ignoring his question.

Bucky zipped his backpack, lifting it over one shoulder. It was the same one he’d used in Bucharest. It was a good backpack. “New York, I guess.” He put the other arm through the strap, clipping the little safety belt over his chest. “Where will you go?”

Steve uncrossed his legs, running his hands down the material on his pants. His hands were older, gnarled, his bony artist’s fingers more bent with age. It reminded Bucky of when he was young, pre-serum, surprisingly. “Sam suggested that I could stay on the ground and give him behind the scenes intel over the comms. I might do that.”

Bucky nodded. It seemed fitting. Steve had risked his life for the world enough, but it was impossible to ask him not to try and be a hero. Bucky felt calmer about the idea of Steve behind a desk. 

There wasn’t anything more to be said that he could think of, and once again, he found himself at the brink of saying goodbye to Steve. “So…” he began.

“I have an apartment in Brooklyn,” Steve interrupted. “You could use it. If you want. Instead of getting your own place.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped at it. Bucky heard a responding _ping_ from the pocket of his backpack. It shocked him, how familiar and quick Steve was with technology these days. He remembered how he’d been when they FaceTimed in Wakanda, an old man struggling to understand the tools of a new generation. He seemed so much more at home now, both in the world and in his own body. 

Bucky pulled out his phone and read the address. “Thanks, I really appreciate that.” He cleared his throat, wanting to say something more, _anything_ to get Steve to keep talking to him.

Steve nodded. “Maybe I’ll stop by sometime.”

Bucky smiled weakly. “You should.” 

The ride to New York was good to help him clear his mind. He didn’t understand what had changed, but he thought maybe it had never been there at all. Maybe Steve only liked him when he was fat. There were too many questions, and he didn’t have enough information for any of the answers. 

But Steve had a phone, and he had Bucky’s number. If he wanted to talk, he could pick it up and dial it. Things were simple as that. Bucky had made it clear that he was available for Steve. If the blond changed his mind, it would be easy for him.

Bucky swallowed, telling himself that the tears pricking at his eyes were from the wind. He didn’t ride with a helmet. 

It could be _so_ easy for him.

But he had to trust Steve. It’s what saved their relationship a hundred times before, and it would do it again, if it was meant to be saved. By the time Bucky parked outside the apartment building bearing the address Steve had texted him, his head felt clearer and his heart surer. He trusted Steve.

The apartment was small, but open and airy. It was a studio on the sixth floor. The bed was lower than Bucky would have appreciated, and the decorations were a little too hipster-y for his taste, but he supposed the vintage aspect of the aesthetic appealed to Steve. 

There were three small potted succulents on the top of the fridge, and Bucky wondered distantly if they had names. Then, he thought he might as well ask Steve. 

_What the hell?_ He thought. _Friends aren’t afraid to ask friends things, right?_

He snapped a picture and sent it to Steve in their text conversation.

_These cute guys got names?_

He looked over at the time to realize that it was after four in the morning. Surely Steve wouldn’t be awake.

But his response was immediate, phone pinging before the screen had even gone dark.

_Left to right, Harold, Waldorf, and Mademoiselle._

Bucky snorted. _Mademoiselle?_ He replied.

 _She’s a lady,_ came Steve’s response.

Bucky was pretty tired from the ride. He fired off a _I’m sure she is,_ in return, stripping to his underwear and falling back onto Steve’s surprisingly plush bed. It smelled like him, peaches and sandalwood. He turned on his side and face the window, replying to Steve’s other text. 

They continued to chat until early in the morning, when it was so hard for Bucky to keep his eyes open he was afraid he’d fall asleep on Steve without saying goodnight. 

_I should go to bed. Wouldn’t want to give you a heart attack if I disappeared,_ Bucky sent with a chuckle.

 _Course. You need your beauty sleep._ Steve sent back, then, a moment later, _goodnight Buck. Sweet dreams. x_

He still signed his messages the same way, even after all these years.

Bucky turned off the display and set his phone on the nightstand. 

He didn’t have sweet dreams, his nightmares plagued with memories of torture under HYDRA and marks dying by his hands. 

\--

They texted often, when they were free. Steve was adjusting to his job as ‘man in the chair’, as Peter called it. Bucky filled his days with time spent volunteering at the same crisis centres Steve had worked at. The older man had mentioned it one day, and interested, Bucky had asked for more information. It was a good fit for him. 

Their conversations had started innocently enough; Bucky asked where Steve kept the vacuum one time when he’d spilt cereal on the floor (it was a roomba, Steve told him, but it had long since run out of battery when Steve had been preoccupied with the Avengers. Bucky found it underneath a couch, charged it, and it happily whirred and started off again. Bucky picked up the larger clumps of cereal, however, so as not to overwhelm the machine.), and another time they’d got to talking about the movie that had come out last weekend. Before Bucky knew it, they were texting constantly, a happy surge spreading through Bucky every time his phone went off. 

Months had gone by, and Steve hadn’t made any attempt to visit like he’d said. He continued to send his affectionate “good morning” and “good night” texts without ever initiating anything more or less, and Bucky felt like his head was spinning. 

He wanted to make Steve _want_ him. He remembered how it felt, Steve’s loving care turning into desire, his soft touches into rough motions, his compliments into commands. He missed those days spent shacked up in an apartment in Berlin, hiding from HYDRA together. Texting Steve wasn’t enough. He swore to himself thousands of times that he was content being friends, but he wasn’t. He could never be content with anything less than all of Steve. 

And maybe he’d gone back to his old habits of eating his feelings a little. He’d lost weight in Wakanda as he came more into himself, and he’d been back down to the Winter Solider weight of 180 lbs. It had helped, during the war against Thanos. But now the war was over, and the most physically demanding thing Bucky had done in the last two weeks was run to catch a bus. The Winter Soldier wasn’t needed anymore.

Sam had dropped by, after about a week of Bucky living at Steve’s, and asked if he wanted to help (the exact words he’d used were _I could use a century-old sidekick_ ), and Bucky politely declined. _Not for forever,_ he’d said. _I’m just not feeling like being a hero right now._

But _forever_ seemed a lot more painful without Steve by his side.

Retirement was different than how he’d always imagined. HYDRA was gone; Thanos was dead; the worst threats plaguing the Avengers weren’t even above a level two threat on a Tuesday afternoon, and planet Earth felt much safer with Carol protecting them in the sky. Bucky could relax in Steve’s apartment and enjoy life the slow way. That wasn’t the part that bothered him; it was easier than he’d expected, taking his losses and settling in domesticity. But in his dreams, he’d always been with Steve.

He was surrounded by him constantly, alone yet reminded by him in every direction he looked. It still didn’t feel like Bucky’s apartment. He hadn’t changed any of the decorations, faithfully watering Steve’s (frankly intimidating) collection of flora, tidily making the bed every morning, dusting the photo frames of people he barely knew. There were three photographs on the mantle; one of Steve and a stranger in front of the group therapy building, one of Peggy, and one of Tony, T’Challa, and Steve, the blond laughing and covering his blushing face. He’d still had his beard back when the picture was taken, and if Bucky stood in front of it for nearly a minute every day and studied every detail of it? Well, that was his own sweet and sexy secret. 

Steve had mentioned weeks ago that he could change the decorations if he wanted, take down the photos and the string lights and put them in a little cardboard box and put up his own paraphernalia, but Bucky couldn’t bring himself to change a single detail. It was his way of keeping Steve close, he supposed, making the apartment like Steve could come back any moment. Like he’d walk through the door and tell Bucky he was sorry he’d been dumb, and sweep him into his arms and make out on the bed.

Bucky was sitting at the little table in the kitchenette, feeling a little self-piteous and a little miserable. He was FaceTiming Steve with both their cameras off, because twenty minutes ago Bucky had told Steve to aim the phone at something else other than the ceiling and Steve had said he was busy doing paperwork and he didn’t want to bore Bucky by not keeping eye contact, and Bucky had shut his camera off like a petulant child. A moment later, so had Steve. 

Steve never really used the _video_ aspect of their video chats anymore. He was happy to answer Bucky’s call, any time of day (or night, Bucky had discovered at 5 am on a Wednesday when he just couldn’t sleep and the need to hear Steve’s voice was so strong he couldn’t bear to hold himself back), but they might as well have been calling each other on landlines for as much as he’d shown his face. One time, Steve had answered a text on his phone and Bucky was treated to the sight of his aged face lined with concentration as he tapped out a response, but the moment he’d sent the reply, the phone was back on his desk and the familiar corner of Steve’s office was back. 

Bucky was almost starting to think that maybe Steve was insecure about Bucky seeing him, but that just couldn’t be it. Steve was built like a god with a face of a movie star; admittedly, an older movie star. But Bucky never let it be said that he didn’t like silver foxes. No; it was more likely that Steve was so busy that he didn’t even have the time to properly sit down and chat with his best friend.

 _Ex best friend,_ Bucky reminded himself, resolutely _not_ letting his brain head off into the category of ‘ex lover’. Those were dangerous waters that had lead him into tears on more than one occasion. 

It was probably for the best that Steve couldn’t see him, either. Bucky was most of the way through a pack of oreos and a jar of peanut butter, and he was sure Steve wasn’t interested in watching him stuff his face. Anymore. Or ever. 

_Whatever,_ Bucky hissed at his own mind, refusing to think about Berlin, he was _not_ thinking about Berlin…

“So what are your plans for the weekend?” Steve’s voice came through the tinny speakers, his first sentence that was actually complete, and not just a single-worded reply to one of Bucky’s desperate questions. 

“Uh, I dunno. I was gonna pick up an extra shift or two at the centre. They’re having a wedding shower this weekend- that guy Joe’s getting married to his fiance.”

“Oh. That’ll be fun.” Steve paused for a moment, and Bucky heard the steady clack of a keyboard. “A wedding shower, huh? That’s a good place to pick up… girls.” 

The WiFi connection in this part of the kitchen wasn’t always great, and sometimes parts of their conversation would get cut out. Bucky wished that the awkward pause, the fact that Steve had just suggested that he _pick up a date_ at the group therapy centre, a _girl_ no less, had been his ears playing tricks on him, the poor connection garbling Steve’s words. He wished he’d heard wrong, but he knew he hadn’t. Steve’s meaning was clear. 

_Get a girlfriend. Stop FaceTiming me every single goddamn day. Things are different now, Buck._

Bucky bit down on another two oreos dunked in peanut butter, swiping the crumbs off his pajama shirt. The ratio of frosting to cookie was so much better in thin oreos. Plus, they were smaller, so you could have more, Bucky had reasoned plenty of times. He was pretty sure that no limited amount of frosting could justify him eating an entire pack, but he usually ignored that idea. “Yeah, I think I’m good on that. Not really looking for anyone right now.”

Steve’s reply came a moment later, but it sounded more like he was tossing back a careless response, like Bucky was distracting him from his work, and less like he’d taken the time to ponder his statement. “Sam said you don’t really… uh, get out much. Other than the centre, he said you just stay at home. He sounded kind of worried about you.”

He couldn’t fool Bucky, not even with that careful tone in his voice. He didn’t actually care enough about what Bucky did; Sam probably made him promise to mention it to Bucky. He grabbed two more oreos and scraped at the bottom of the peanut butter jar- it was getting low, and it was difficult to actually get a significant amount of peanut butter on the cookies. “Alexa, add peanut butter to my shopping list,” he told the small device, watching the blue circle spin around. “I’m fine, I go out plenty. It’s just hot, you know? Don’t wanna go out during the heat of the day.” He really wished Steve would change the subject. 

His chuckle came through the speaker. “Yeah, I guess it is June. I’ve missed out on the sun for a while, I’ve been so busy with this paperwork.”

Bucky returned his laugh. “Who’s not getting out now? Maybe Sam should be concerned about you wasting away in your office.” The second the words _wasting away_ were out of his mouth, he wished he could take them back. He wasn’t actually concerned about Steve dying; he was pretty sure he had enough spit and vinegar in him to outlive Bucky himself, but he didn’t need to go around making jokes about his age.

Steve didn’t seem to react, though, taking his customary few moments to respond. He did everything so _differently_ these days, really taking his time to make the right choice. Bucky would be impressed, if he wasn’t so goddamn terrified. “I was thinking maybe next week I could come by and we could go to a baseball game, if you want.”

Bucky thought back to the last time he’d gone to a baseball game. It came back to him in a rush; he’d seen the Cardinals beat the Yankees at the 1942 world series. Steve had been with him. 

“I never did stop by like I said I would,” Steve added softly, and Bucky realized he’d taken too long to respond. He _wished_ he could see Steve’s face; it was fucking hard enough being four hours away without not being able to know which emotion Steve was displaying.

“Uh, yeah, no, that’d be great,” Bucky stammered out. _Don’t say ‘it’s a date’. Don’t say ‘it’s a date’._ “Love to hang out.”

Was Steve smiling? Frowning at his computer monitor? Shitting? 

“Awesome. Bruce got me some season passes, I figured you’d enjoy it.” There was a sound Bucky couldn’t identify, the rustling of fabric, or the shuffling of paper, or maybe even wind. 

Bucky finished the last oreo. He could feel his stomach cramping up a little. The peanut butter was thick in his throat, and he stood to get himself a glass of milk, bumping the table and tipping the phone over onto its face. “What was that? Are you okay?” Steve called, voice anxious. 

“Yeah, fine!” Bucky responded, diving for his phone. “Sorry, I just dropped my phone.”

“I can, uh, I can go if you’re busy,” Steve began, even though Bucky was the one who’d called.

Bucky checked the time. It was almost 11 pm. He should probably try to sleep sometime, even if he knew he’d just stare at Steve’s ceiling until the sun came up.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll call you back tomorrow. Night Steve.”

“Night, Buck. Sweet dreams,” Steve replied before terminating the call.

Bucky’s heart was hammering in his chest.

He poured himself a tall glass of milk, then, after a pause, he got out the chocolate syrup and made himself a chocolate milk because _why the hell not_?

Steve was coming to visit him.

He sat down on the chair, staring at the chocolate milk. Then he stood up again and got out some whipped cream.


	2. Steve POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Bucky and Steve have a 'platonic' date, they have a much needed talk about some issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the sudden break up in the last chapter. I promise porn is coming soon.

Bucky cheered beside Steve, standing and shouting with the rest of the fans before sitting again. Steve loved seeing him like this; happy, carefree, and careless. Even in their happiest days back in Berlin, there had still been the threat of HYDRA, ever present, like a curse. There were times in the last month that Steve had wished he was back in Berlin- when he’d been bored, sitting at his computer and waiting for an update from Sam, or riding his bike slowly through the woods of upstate New York. Things before had always been _them_ , a guaranteed constant in his unsteady life. _Together._ _We’ll defeat HYDRA together, Steve,_ or _we’ll hide, but at least we’ll be together_ and even _when you go back to the future, we can be together._ Steve had stepped through time and sat on the bench, and he saw Bucky standing there, sunlight filtering through the trees and lighting up the strands of hair around his face, glistening off the zipper of his bomber jacket, and once again it had been just him, alone. So there were plenty of moments in the weeks since where he’d missed the way things were in Berlin, out of loneliness, or desperation, or shame. 

_ Get a grip, Rogers. He doesn’t want to be with some old creep.  _ A part of Steve’s mind reminded him that Bucky was old, too, but the crueller part snapped  _ at least he doesn’t look it. _

But just now, sitting with Bucky in stadium seats that were a little too small for both of them, Steve was happy to be in the present. He was happy to have Bucky any way he could get him, honestly, and he’d be fooling himself if he tried to believe anything different. It pained him, texting Bucky  _ as a friend _ , agreeing to meet up at Fenway Park  _ as friends _ , sharing a bag of peanuts and some popcorn a diet coke  _ like friends. _ The part that killed him most, though, was how Bucky’s seat fit him a little worse than Steve’s, how most of the peanuts and all of the popcorn (buttery, salty, gloriously fake, bright yellow popcorn) and diet coke were being eaten by Bucky. 

He’d gained weight. It had been hard to tell at first, with his neatly trimmed beard and his long hair framing his face, and oversized canvas jacket. But Steve had watched him as he moved, with an intensity that might have bordered on  _ more than friends _ and the evidence was conclusive. Bucky was heavier than he’d been at Stark’s funeral. 

His butt strained the seat of his joggers, his thighs testing the seams where they sat on the plastic seat, the unforgiving armrests digging into his soft sides. The zipper of his jacket was curved over his middle in a way that suggested a poorly-hidden paunch, and he’d finished an entire large popcorn by himself. 

The game was almost over, and Steve had no clue what the score was. Really, if Bucky had asked him which team was currently at bat, he only would’ve had a 50% chance of getting the answer correct on guessing alone. He couldn’t pay attention to anything around him except for Bucky.

He’d told himself that he could do this, a thousand times today alone.

Choosing between two pairs of jeans; the ones that Nat said made his ass look good, or the ones that brought out the blue in his eyes?  _ I can do this. _ He’d put on his shirt, checked himself in the mirror, and decided the button up really  _ did _ make him look ancient. He’d changed into a v neck.  _ I can do this.  _ He’d styled his hair, wondering whether he should part it on the side, a safe, timeless style, or coif it up like what was popular now. He’d done that, styled it up into a neat pompadour. It half looked like he was trying too hard, a slick grandpa trying to keep in touch with today’s fashions (and dear god, he hoped no one assumed that he was Bucky’s dad), but it was the best he could do.  _ I can do this.  _ He’d dolefully regarded his own face in the mirror, the lines of age, the tired eyes.  _ Maybe I should grow a beard, _ he mused.  _ That might look good. Or a moustache. Bucky sure liked that back in the 80s _ . The unhelpful part of his brain supplied  _ it doesn’t matter what Bucky likes anymore. _ He’d pushed that away, squaring his shoulders and chewing his lip.  _ I can do this. _

He couldn’t do this. Their chairs shared an arm rest, one Bucky was using to try and relax in his tight seat, and Steve had accidentally brushed their fingers together more than once. Each time, it sent a thrill down his spine that threatened to reduce him to shivers, a touch that whispered  _ this is all you get.  _

In a rush, the game was over, and Steve didn’t even know who won, or who he’d been rooting for. People began to stand, shuffling out of the rows of seats, and Bucky was looking at him expectantly.

“Want to go out for lunch?” Steve asked. The moment he’d spoken, he wished he’d suggested anything else. It was barely 3 pm; they’d both had their respective lunches before the game, and Bucky had just polished off peanuts, popcorn, and a large soda. He was sure lunch was the last thing he’d wanted.

But Bucky’s face split in a smile like Steve had given him a puppy, and Steve felt warm all over. “Sure! I really have a craving for hot dogs. Must be the nostalgia.”

Steve pulled a face, because it was 2023 and no one ate hot dogs, especially not in New York. People ate humanely cured organic beef franks, or artisanal mutton sandwiches, but not hot dogs. People went vegan, or cut out sugar, or ate paleo diets and swore off processed foods, but not Bucky. 

Bucky chuckled at his expression. “C’mon old man. I’ll spring. There’s gotta be a hot dog cart around here somewhere.”

Steve continued to frown, mostly covering up for the fact that he really,  _ really _ wanted to watch Bucky eat a hot dog. Bucky caught his expression and his face faltered, and he turned and Steve followed him out of the park. The air hung sober around them, like Steve had wrung all the cheer from it. He chastised himself in his head.  _ He probably thinks you hate him calling you old, Moron. _

The truth was, Steve wasn’t sure  _ how  _ to feel about it. Bucky gave constant jabs about his age, from the moment he’d hugged him back on the Stark estate, to when they were texting, to when they’d met outside the gate of the stadium. He might have the decency to be insulted if Bucky’d had a tone of cruelty or disapproval in his voice, but there was nothing but the fond banter between two friends. Steve could just as easily imagine Bucky calling him  _ short stuff  _ or  _ punk _ like he had before the war, or  _ big guy  _ or  _ captain _ after the serum. Bucky’d always had his vague nicknames referencing his appearance, so it should only follow that he would call Steve old now. And it didn’t bother him, really; he wouldn’t have even cared if it wasn’t for the fact that he didn’t know how Bucky felt about it.

He’d come to accept his own age; it was something he never really thought he’d get when he was younger, being so sick. As an Avenger, he thought he’d die in battle before he got the chance to age. Here he was, a lifetime of being with the one he loved, and the lines to prove it. It was almost like a prize he wasn’t expecting to win. 

But what must Bucky see, when he looked at him?

“Steve?” Bucky repeated. 

“Uh, sorry?” Steve had the habit of falling into his thoughts and letting time slip away all too often. He realized they were up in line at a disreputable-appearing hot dog vendor, and Bucky was holding a tray of a dozen hot dogs, looking to him for fixings. “Just mustard, thanks.”

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “Heathen. You gotta swirl all the condiments together.” He pumped no less than a half cup of ketchup and relish on half the hot dogs, motioning for Steve to add onions while he balanced the tray. Steve didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d only manage two himself, so he sprinkled onions over the other ten and called it a day.

They found a nice outdoor cafe to sit at, and picked a table with an umbrella casting shade overhead. A pigeon hopped near Steve’s feet, and he picked off a corner of his bun at tossed it to the ground. Bucky sniggered and pulled out his phone, taking a picture of the bird.

“Tell me you’re not sending that to Sam,” Steve sighed.

Bucky winked. “That’s for me to know and bird-brain to find out.” He smirked devilishly and put his phone away, handing Steve a hot dog and grabbing one for himself.

Steve bit down into the violently processed tube of meat, wondering if Bucky remembered the last time they’d had hot dogs, when he’d broken into Steve’s little apartment above the bakery. They’d never mentioned Berlin, not in their weeks of texting. Steve supposed it was possible that he’d forgotten gaps of it entirely; he’d managed to recall periods of his past during HYDRA’s conditioning, but their twenty year reprieve might have been lost in cryo.

_ Maybe it’s for the best. _

_ Maybe we were meant to drift apart. _

_ Maybe- _

“ _ Fuck _ , I’m getting full,” Bucky complained.

Steve looked to the tray. Seven hot dogs were gone, one half-eaten in his hands, the rest ostensibly devoured by Bucky. 

He shrugged and took another bite. “I’m not really hungry. You can finish them, if you want.”

Bucky blinked at him. 

Steve remembered another time, when he would’ve told Bucky to finish them instead of mildly suggesting.  _ You’re not full yet. _ He’d poke the full curve of Bucky’s gut.  _ Look at all that room. You can finish another three, at least. When there’s two left, maybe I’ll help you.  _ He cleared his throat, hoping he could take back his words.

“If you’re sure,” is all Bucky said, leaning forward and taking another. 

Steve remembered when his belly would become stretched tight with food, full and groaning as he’d rub his hands over it, and still he’d keep eating. Currently, Bucky’s stomach- distended or otherwise- was concealed behind his canvas jacket. 

It was pretty warm out- about 72 degrees, Steve would wager- Bucky must be uncomfortable.

He tapped out when there were three hot dogs left. Steve finished his in silence, and Bucky threw out the rest in the trash. “Thought for sure you would’ve eaten more than one, with your super-soldier metabolism,” Bucky mentioned. Steve didn’t respond.

Their date was over now, surely, but Steve didn’t want to go home. “Want to walk?” he blurted.

Again, Bucky smiled kindly. Steve wondered if he was being patronized.  _ Ugh, sure, I’ll take a walk with you. Poor old guy. Probably lonely.  _ “Love to.”

They ambled along the sidewalk in companionable silence. Steve was mostly following Bucky, walking without direction, until the brunet stopped and he realized they were standing out in front of his old apartment, where Bucky now lived. “Oh,” he said, stupidly.

Bucky was shuffling a little, looking at his feet. “Want to come up?” he asked after a moment.

“Sure,” Steve agreed, not entirely sure to what he was agreeing. He followed Bucky up the stairs, and they paused on the second landing by an unspoken agreement. Steve would’ve been embarrassed to admit he needed to catch his breath, but Bucky’s cheeks were blushing and he breathed deeply for a moment, too. 

Steve stepped into his apartment behind Bucky, and he was struck by how nothing had changed. Barely a single item looked like it had been shifted even an inch. Except… his vision was drawn to the fridge, where his three succulents sat happily, about twice the size they were when he’d last seen them. “Oh!” he exclaimed, dashing forward and turning their pots, admiring their size. “They look wonderful!”

“Thanks,” Bucky replied, blushing a little and ducking his head under his parted hair, falling over his face. Steve told himself the blush was because of the temperature.  _ He  _ really  _ should take off that jacket if he’s too hot. _ “I do my best. Uh, thank you for the apartment, too. It’s really nice. I’m happy to have it.”

Steve smiled across the kitchen at him, perhaps a little too sappily, before attempting to reign it in. “Of course, Buck. You’re welcome to anything you like.”

Bucky visibly flinched, and took a step back. He looked a little like he’d been slapped. Steve remembered the visceral emotion of rejection plastered on his face when Steve had declined to fuck him.  _ I sure hope so _ echoed through Steve’s mind, the chorus of a time when Bucky had still wanted him. 

He’d still been willing to play boyfriends back then. But that wasn’t what Steve wanted. Call him obstinate, or high maintenance, or picky, but Steve needed to know that Bucky still wanted him like  _ this _ ; old, retired, bored. He didn’t want them to carry on the last strands of a past relationship out of obligation or lack of options. When he’d hesitated then, it wasn’t because he was testing Bucky, out of some misplaced notion of self preservation. Bucky had loved him when he was young and strong, he knew that. He needed to know that Bucky loved him now, for no other reason than he wanted to. It came to him in that moment, that it was what he’d wanted to know all along.

_ Will you love me when I’m old? Not because it’s me, but despite it being me? _

He didn’t realize that was something he’d needed. He couldn’t bear to see them eventually drift apart because Bucky wasn’t attracted to him anymore and he couldn’t bear to tell him. He needed it to be said, even if it killed him. 

_ It would be better to know. Even if it hurt me.  _

“Bucky-” he stepped forward, because goddamn it, if he was going to put his foot in his mouth, he wasn’t going to half ass things. 

Bucky didn’t step away, but he didn’t meet his eyes either.

Steve risked it all, putting everything out there.  _ Even if it hurts.  _ “I’m sorry I made you think that I didn’t want you back at Stark’s estate. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I know I hurt you. I want to make up for that. I want… I want to give you want you want. And if that’s not me, that’s okay. I just… want you to be happy.” His voice broke on the last word, choked out in almost a sob. He could only imagine how he must look, a pathetic old man begging his beautiful best friend to be with him. 

“Steve, you big idiot,” Bucky sighed, stepping forward into Steve’s space, wrapping his arms around him. Steve stood for a moment in suspended shock before he got with the program, returning the embrace and hugging Bucky in earnest. He could feel the brunet’s full stomach press up against his middle, and  _ oh, _ that felt good. Perfectly fitted, like two puzzle pieces. “All I want is you,” Bucky muttered against his shoulder. 

Steve stepped back in surprise, needing to see the look in Bucky’s eyes. “Really?” he stammered. “Like this?”

“ _ Steve _ ,” Bucky breathed, with all the softness of a lover and all the frustration that only he could have for his best friend, and Steve knew that it would be alright. “ _ Yes. _ You look  _ so _ fucking good like that, like a… a…” he seemed caught on a word. Steve raised his eyebrows expectantly, but Bucky’s blush just deepened and he shut his mouth.

“Like?” Steve prompted.

“Like a  _ daddy _ ,” Bucky muttered.

Steve processed for a moment. “You mean you like me like this? Not just because it’s me, but… especially like this?”

“Of course!” Bucky exclaimed, reaching up his metal hand to run it through Steve’s ashen locks. “Like a silver daddy.”

“Buck, I…” Steve stuttered, at a loss for words. This was the last thing he’d expected.

Bucky dropped his arm, not meeting Steve’s eyes. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be with me like this, I know I’m different-”

Steve took Bucky’s hands in his, not really caring anymore about what could go wrong. “What are you talking about?”

Bucky smirked, self-deprecating and small. “You know, fat and whatever. I thought-”

“Buck, you’re not  _ fat _ ,” Steve interrupted, exasperated. Husky or chunky, certainly. Chubby, maybe. But not fat, not yet.

“Well, not compared to how fat I  _ was, _ ” Bucky assented. “But hell, I can’t pretend to know what you want. I mean, I never really understood, but it was hot, yanno? I was like, fuck it, if he wants me to eat cheesecake and then come on my belly-”

“Hold up,” Steve interrupted again. “You  _ remember  _ that?”

Bucky blinked at him. “Of course I remember, Steve. Why wouldn’t I?”

Steve was the one blushing now, embarrassed at his own stupidity. “I thought… I didn’t know. You didn’t say.” He muttered the last bit, staring at his shoes. It was a poor excuse.

Bucky took his chin gently, and tilted his face so they were eye to eye again. “Well, I’m saying now. I remember the way it was before. And I’d like that again. Not the  _ same _ \- I mean, shit, we don’t have to run from HYDRA or hide our relationship from everyone, but I want to be with you. Any way you want me.”

Steve felt relief crash down over him, like the fall of rain clearing away blood after a battle. “I want  _ you _ , Buck. Whatever you weigh. If you wanna be battle-shape, that’s great, or like before, or, or…” 

Bucky just titled his head to the left and slotted his mouth against Steve’s, sighing into the kiss, and it was so  _ good _ , and it was  _ everything _ , because this was Bucky,  _ his  _ Bucky, who he’d grown up with, and fought with, and fought  _ against, _ and watched die twice and come back again and chased and loved and followed-

They’d spent every minute of their life running, racing toward this moment, and here they finally were, crossing the line at the same time. 

Steve pulled back for air and rested his forehead against Bucky’s, panting with exhilaration and watching Bucky’s eyelashes sweep over his cheeks. “I love you,” he told him.

“I love you too.” 

Steve felt Bucky reach down and grasp his hand, and something metal clinked between them. Steve looked down, and saw where his ring had knocked against Bucky’s metal hand. He felt so stupid suddenly, for ever doubting that they wouldn’t always end up together. “I’m so sorry, I was such an idiot, I--” 

Bucky cut him off before he could finish his apology. “Hey. It’s okay. I know, you overthink sometimes. If you’re ever uncertain about how I feel for you, even if it seems silly, even if you don’t think it’s important- if it’s bothering you, you can mention it to me. You don’t have to worry alone, okay?”

Steve nodded. “I know. I do.”

Bucky nodded in agreement. “Good. Because I love you, and I would do anything for you. If you ever felt like you wanted to be alone, I would respect that. I’d give you as much space as you asked. But don’t ever think that you have to be alone, or that you’re going to solve anything by keeping it all in your head.” He knocked lightly on Steve’s skull, teasing. “Serum might’ve elevated your muscles, but not your thinking too much, yeah, bonebrain?”

Steve chuckled. “Twice as much of no brains is still no brains.”

Bucky grinned and they kissed again. He pulled away suddenly, his eyes flashing with a thought. “So, wait, about me being fat… I know you said you like me however, blah blah, but…?” he trailed off.

Steve swallowed. “But, if you wanted to, uh, eat entire cakes in one sitting, I would totally be into that.”

Bucky bit his lip, his eyes glinting. “That’s good. ‘Cause as it so happens, I have some leftover cake in your fridge right now.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot high. He should’ve guessed he couldn’t go through one single time of seeing Bucky as ‘just friends’ without confessing his love and shoving dessert down his throat all in one go. 

“I mean, if you want,” Bucky continued, eyes telling Steve everything he needed to know.  _ I want to eat the cake. I want to be here with you.  _ And maybe even,  _ I want you to tell me what you want. _

Steve slipped into the familiar role, pushing Bucky until his back hit the wall, eyes wide with excitement. “I want you to eat that cake,” he commanded, easing a leg between Bucky’s soft thighs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me writing this chapter: it's about the /pining/


	3. Bucky POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the new and updated tags.

Bucky really did mean he only had  _ some _ leftover cake; there were two slices of a rich, two-layer black forest he’d taken home from the group therapy center a few nights ago. He was honestly impressed there were leftovers at all; he hadn’t been in the habit of leaving things unfinished. 

His weight gain had crept up on him this time. There was a time he’d been so certain that him and Steve would do it intentionally, but when he thought he might really not be with Steve, he’d sort of gained on his own. 

In the minutes when he was getting ready for their date, he’d been panicking over what to wear. His nice jeans weren’t anywhere to be found, and he couldn’t even get his bomber jacket zipped. He’d thrown on his baggiest jacket, even though it made him swelter in the early autumn weather, and prayed that Steve didn’t notice anything.

But he had, and he was so glad.

He opened the fridge and took out the plate of cake. Setting it on the table, he caught Steve’s amused expression. “Honestly, I don’t think I’d be able to manage much more than two slices, after all that popcorn and those hotdogs,” he apologized, getting a fork for himself. 

“No, no, that’s fine! I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Steve said, with a blush that said  _ not yet, I don’t.  _ Bucky understood. He was nervous, too; hand shaking lightly around the handle of the utensil. It had been  _ so long _ since they’d done this, and it felt both like a shift back into something familiar and the thrill of something new. “I mean, we can always get more next time,” Steve added.

Just the idea of  _ next time _ , the thought that they might do this again, or really, forever, sent Bucky’s heart soaring.  _ We could do this forever _ , he told himself.  _ We could be together for years and get what we want and never, ever stop. _ And for once, all the other voices in his head, the Asset snarling that he didn’t deserve happiness, or the Winter Soldier telling him he should destroy what he loved before it destroyed him, were silent. The perfect love he felt silenced all the fear within him. 

“You should eat it in the bed,” Steve suggested. 

Bucky beamed, glad to have Steve’s direction once more. He took the plate and the fork over to the bed and settled against the headboard as Steve sat before him. 

Steve tugged at the elbow of his jacket. “You should take this off if you’re hot.” 

He kept saying  _ should,  _ like he was leaving space for Bucky to say he didn’t want to. But he wanted to do everything Steve suggested. He set the plate in his lap, sitting up straighter to unzip it and shrug it from his shoulders. Steve’s eyes were fixed on his middle, and Bucky knew he must look heavier in his ill-fitting henley and joggers. 

Instead of telling him to eat, Steve picked up the fork and sliced off the tip of the wedge of cake, lifting it to Bucky’s mouth. “Is… is this okay?” he asked breathlessly, his eyes a little wild, a little blown out with desire.

Bucky nodded, wordless, and opened his mouth to accept the bite. Steve didn’t feed him much, not even before, and he was struck with the extreme tenderness from the gesture. 

“Let me know if your pants get too tight, okay?” 

Bucky nodded, humming around the bite of cake in his mouth. It felt silky and tart on his tongue, the almost bitter notes of the dark chocolate delightful to taste. He felt himself slipping into a warm and safe place, and higher thought faded away.

Steve must’ve noticed the change, and he put a hand to Bucky’s cheek and looked into his eyes. The details of the room were blurring into a light smear dotted with green and dappled light coming through the windows, and Steve was in the middle of focus like looking through a tunnel. “Hey, you alright? Stay with me, okay?”

“Mhm,” Bucky muttered. “M’okay.”

Steve seemed relieved that Bucky was calm about what was happening. In the days after Bucharest, Bucky had gone into dissociative states plenty enough that Steve knew how to deal with an episode, but it had been a while since Bucky had felt safe enough to actually drop into subspace. He felt at peace, fuzzy waves of endorphins rushing over him. It was all okay. Even if he wasn’t quite in control of his own limbs right now, Steve was, and he knew Steve would never let him fall into danger. 

It was like a strange echo of the Asset; where HYDRA’s conditioning had forced away his ability to choose so they could hijack his motion functions, he felt nothing but trust for Steve, trust in the bond they shared. He almost felt like he was blossoming, shining under the care of a Handler who really knew what he needed, who knew exactly how to treat him.

Steve continued feeding Bucky the cake, and although his senses were a little muted, he realized after a little that the waistband of his joggers was digging painfully into his sides.

“Tight,” he pouted, sitting back a little and huffing.

“Okay,” Steve replied. “I’m going to take care of you, okay?” He was talking a lot, narrating a little commentary of everything he was doing to put Bucky at ease. He untied the drawstring of the pants with deft fingers, and Bucky felt some of the pressure ease as his stomach filled the available space. 

Steve stroked the soft curve of his tummy, running a thumb over his underbelly. Bucky knew he had a few stretch marks down there, both old and new, and the skin was sensitive. He bucked a little under the touch, getting hard in the loose material of his pants. “You look so good for me, baby,” Steve hushed, the endearment falling easily and familiar from his mouth. “You’re doing so good.”

“Wanna be good,” Bucky muttered. “Missed you, missed you so much when I was alone,” he babbled. He knew, distantly, that he should probably care about what he was saying, that this was all so  _ new  _ and delicate and he didn’t want to make Steve feel guilty. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from talking anyway. “Would’ve done anything for you to want me.”

“I know, Buck, I know, and I’m so sorry,” Steve soothed, petting a hand through Bucky’s long hair. It felt nice, and Bucky closed his eyes, leaning his head back and allowing Steve to feed him another forkful of cake whenever he needed. “But it’s okay. We’re here now, yeah? We’re safe and we’re together, and no one’s ever going to take that away. Not ever.” Steve’s voice had a hard and possessive edge to it, and Bucky felt himself getting more aroused even as he was getting fuller, stomach nearing capacity. 

“Thank you, daddy,” Bucky told Steve, before he’d really even meant to say it. He knew they hadn’t talked about it yet, and he snapped his eyes open to gauge Steve’s reaction.

He didn’t react visibly, still smiling with the same approving look he’d had when Bucky closed his eyes. 

“Is that okay?” Bucky asked, still needing clarification, needing Steve to say it.

“Of course, baby. You want your daddy? I’m here, honey,” Steve told him, and Bucky slipped further down. He couldn’t really hear Steve anymore, but he was aware that he was talking to him, muttering sweet nothing just above the surface. It felt a little like swimming. Bucky didn’t swim much anymore. He didn’t get the opportunity too often, and the rare times he’d had, it felt too claustrophobic, too near to the feeling of being cryogenically frozen. But he felt nothing now except for the light tingling in his fingertips, the weight of Steve’s knee resting against his thigh, the taste of the chocolate on his tongue.

Some time later, Steve was running a thumb over his shoulder and saying his name. “...you doing, Buck?”

Bucky blinked, coming up a little higher, almost fully aware. “What?” He looked down at himself, at his bare chest. When had he taken his shirt off? “Did I finish the cake?” he asked.

Steve nodded. “You said it still felt too tight, so we took off your shirt and I rubbed your belly a little.” 

Bucky was disappointed he’d missed that, but he reminded himself there would be a next time. 

“You’re… oh,” Bucky said dumbly, his gaze falling on Steve’s erection straining against his pants.

Steve smirked a little, embarrassed. “Uh, sorry about that.”

Bucky leant up best he could, pulling Steve over him with a hand fisted in his shirt. “Don’t be. S’what we’re here for.”

When they parted, Bucky tugged a little at Steve’s shirt. He sat up, undoing the buttons and dropping it on the floor with Bucky’s. He was looking over his little bookshelf next to the kitchen, flushing and not meeting Bucky’s eyes. 

He was still impossibly ripped, meaty pecs and strong shoulders and abs Bucky could grate cheese on. Bucky supposed that might not ever go away. He was a little leaner, and what hair Bucky could see disappearing below his waistband was a silvery trail, and his skin no longer had the glow quality of youth, but  _ god _ he looked amazing, and Bucky wouldn’t trade him for anything.

“You look so perfect,” Bucky muttered, speaking his thoughts aloud, ghosting a hand over Steve’s tiny waist. 

His face had seemed a little tense, a little pained, as if he was waiting for Bucky to tell him to leave. He turned to Bucky, eyebrows arched in a mournful expression. “You’re sure?”

Bucky took Steve’s hand to his mouth and kissed the rough tips of his artist’s fingers, smiling as he mouthed over his thumb. “ _ Yes _ . I love your body. I can’t wait until we go out everywhere and everyone can see me and my beautiful silver daddy.” 

The tension seemed to ease from Steve after that, and Bucky was glad he’d said the right thing. And it was the truth, too. The idea thrilled him, of showing Steve off to the world, hell, to the other Avengers. He could wait for the two of them to get fitted in matching tuxes and take on all of New York.

“You mean that?” Steve asked. “You’d be seen in public with me?”

Bucky grinned. “I’ll accept nothing less than being seen on the next cover of  _ Time _ . Retired Captain America and his big fat boyfriend.”

Steve returned his smile. “Oh, boyfriend, huh?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes playfully. “Husband? Lover? Whatever you want.”

“We could get married, now,” Steve posited, turning the ring on his finger.

Bucky thought of it, of the giant cake they could have, of Natasha wearing white as the maid of honour, of them being lawfully united before the world. He squeezed Steve’s hand. “Nah. That’s okay. I already have my happy ever after, right here. I have since 1971.”

Steve kissed him again, crashing onto him and forcing their mouths together, flicking his tongue into Bucky’s mouth with heat that had Bucky reaching around for Steve’s pretty little ass and tugging at his pants. “Okay,” Steve huffed, sitting up and smoothing his hair back where it had fallen forward over his forehead. “Yeah, that’s fine with me. We’re already married anyway.”

Bucky grinned. “And it’s not like we need an excuse to get cake.”

Steve groaned, rutting against Bucky’s thigh. “ _ God _ , honey, you destroyed that thing.” He looked over to where he’d put the empty plate and fork on the nightstand. 

Bucky moved his hands over to the front of Steve’s jeans, tugging at the button. “Why don’t you take these off and I’ll take care of you?” he suggested, voice syrupy and low.

Steve shuddered, helping him ease down the zipper and shove them off his hips, his boxers going with them. His cock sprung up and hit his toned abdomen, nearly purple at the tip. 

Bucky reached out to grasp at the base, running his thumb over the vein. Steve gasped and jerked a bit, resisting the urge to snap his hips. “Sensitive?” Bucky teased. “C’mon, it’s been shorter for you than it has for me.”

Steve chuckled. “Might be shorter than you know. I came last night.”

Bucky twisted his wrist, running his thumb over the head of Steve’s dick and collecting the precome beading out. “Did you think about me?” He didn’t know what was inspiring this shift in power, why he suddenly wanted to be the one to make Steve fall apart beneath him (or above him, as it were), but the fairer-headed man didn’t seem to object.

“Yes,” Steve panted out, hands uselessly twisting in the blankets. “Yes, I thought about you, I thought of putting my hands all over you, I thought of your mouth on me…”

Bucky put his metal hand over Steve’s adonis belt and pulled him closer to his face, adjusted so Steve’s cock was right in front of his mouth. “So fuck my mouth,” he said.

Steve fisted his hands in Bucky’s long hair and shoved him onto his erection. Bucky flattened his tongue and breathed through his nose, allowing himself to choke on it. He made twin fists at his sides, pushing down his thumbs. His gag reflex had been lost decades ago, sometime in HYDRA, but he still wanted to be able to show Steve a good time. He was panting and groaning above him, his hips starting to jerk forward in rough little motions as he got himself off on the wet walls of Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky hollowed his cheeks as he felt Steve get closer, swirling his tongue around the head each time Steve pulled out. His thrusts were getting deeper, and he was big enough that he could fill Bucky’s airways when he was bottomed out. As the rhythm picked up, it was getting harder for Bucky to draw in a breath. He took conservative sips of air through his nose when he could, feeling himself grow dizzy with lack of oxygen.

Before he could tap Steve to let him know to pull back, Steve was coming down Bucky’s throat, and he was swallowing every last drop until Steve pulled out of him. He was still hard, his age making no contest against the serum to keep his endurance just as long and insistent as Bucky remembered. 

Steve sat heavily on Bucky’s thighs, gasping and swiping at a line of spit that had escaped Bucky’s mouth. “You alright?” he asked. 

Bucky huffed a little, nodding. His lips felt a little tingly, and he was sure he was a little pale, but he felt fine. HYDRA had taught him to hold his breath for over two minutes, he was just a little short of breath. 

“Having trouble?” Steve asked, and the possessive edge was back in his voice. He brought up his hand to Bucky’s throat, tightening at the sides but putting no pressure on the front. 

Bucky’s head lit up like fireworks, dizzy from subspace and low air and the exhilaration of Steve touching him. Spots swam in front of his eyes, and he blinked, but didn’t tell Steve to stop.

Steve bent his head down and kissed Bucky’s lips so lightly, just the lightest touch of skin to skin. He let go with his hand to brace himself against the wall behind Bucky’s head, and Bucky was gasping into Steve’s mouth, breathing in him and his scent. 

Steve was squirming a little on his lap, bumping his thigh against Bucky’s hard member tenting his loose joggers. 

“You want me to take care of you too?”

Bucky nodded, and Steve ground down onto him, his bare ass over Bucky’s pants, and the friction was almost too much to bear. Bucky whimpered, pinned underneath Steve, almost ready to come undone.

“Ask if you want to come,” Steve told him after a few minutes of him grinding over Bucky’s crotch.

“Please, please, let me come, daddy, please,” Bucky begged, untouched yet already so close.

“Go ahead.”

Bucky came, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure, and he knew Steve was watching him from above. He felt the Avenger’s lips brush against his, and he opened his eyes again when Steve pulled away. 

“And I didn’t even take your dick out,” Steve teased him lightly.

“Yeah, well, like you said, been a while,” Bucky grumbled in response, but both of them were smiling. 

They got out of bed, and Bucky took his pants off so they could both shower and get clean together. Steve noted how the shower stall was going to be too small for both of them for much longer, and Bucky told him he’d just have to use his supersoldier salary to buy a bigger one. It felt like the best kind of adventure, this kind of domesticity; planning on how to furnish their bathroom, what type of tile Bucky thought would match the sink. It seemed apparent that Steve would be living with Bucky now. Well, it was his apartment after all, and Bucky was just a guest. 

After their shower, it was just a little after dinnertime, and even though Bucky wasn’t necessarily  _ hungry  _ he wasn’t going to turn down Steve’s suggestion of chinese. 

They stayed in and split a truly mind-boggling amount of food, and then they watched something on netflix and went to bed together like thirty decades meant nothing, like old men turning in for the night. 

When Bucky woke up the next morning, on Saturday, Steve was still with him. They made breakfast and Bucky flicked pancake batter in Steve’s hair and they had brunch and argued whether it was possible to watch the entire third season of Stranger Things in one day, and then Steve proved Bucky that yes, it was. He fell asleep halfway through the last episode, and Bucky carried him to bed and then on Sunday they finished it and Bucky made up his end of the bet by bottoming for Steve (Not like it would’ve taken losing a bet for Bucky to want Steve’s dick in his ass, but it was fun to pretend). On Monday, Steve had work and Bucky was volunteering, but they made it back to the apartment for dinner and then they fucked on the couch and went to sleep. Steve was there every morning when Bucky woke up for the rest of the week, and the week after that, and all the years to follow. Bucky took up reading again, and Steve started painting in the short afternoons of autumn. They didn’t have a wedding, and both of them were perfectly satisfied with that. 

Bucky meant it when he told Steve he already had his happy ever after. Hell, he’d had more lifetimes with Steve than he ever thought he’d get. He’d never be so presumptuous as to assume that he deserved a happy ending, or that this was it, finally.

Bucky didn’t believe in happy endings like in fairytales. Now that he was with Steve, he knew it was so much better. Their story would never, ever end.

And that was the happiest part of all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thanks for coming with me on this journey! I think I’m done with this universe for now, and this is the last fic I have planned (for a little while, at least). Feel free to send an ask or a message to my tumblr for anything at all :)

**Author's Note:**

> "Sweet and sexy secret" in chapter 1 is from a shitpost about salt lamps by @librabutch on tumblr. I claim no ownership to the phrase  
> The guy getting married in chapter 1 is Joe Russo's cameo in Endgame. I named the character Joe as well, since he's credited only as 'unnamed gay throwaway representation'.  
> I apologize if the baseball references are incorrect. I know nothing about professional baseball and I never will 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @easily-suede :)


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